The Things I Do for Love
by the Sly Eagle
Summary: A Zidane POV, before the game. This is my first time actually releasing a fic, so do me a favor and R&R, 'k? Thanks.


thethigsidoforlove okay, this occured to me at like, 2:00 in the morning. And that's when I started writing it...but I finished it in the more holy hours. There's a lot more where this came from, and that stuff is a lot better. But this is pretty funny, so I thought I'd go ahead and post it. If it does okay, I might release my more serious stuff.  
By the by: disclaimer: I do not own Zidane, Square does. If I did, do you think I'd waste my time writing this?!  
  


The Things I Do for Love  
  


My name is Zidane, and the ladies love me. I'm an actor (hehe, or thief) from Lindblum. I'm cute, witty, strong, um…conceited, but, seriously, they really like me. Which is good, because I like girls. No, no…you missed it. I _really _like girls.   
You see, girls are a bit of a game for me. It's fun, trying to guess what they're thinking about and stuff, trying to guess what they want; it's a challenge, like trying to put together a model ship or a jigsaw puzzle. You can't do that with guys. I already know exactly what they're thinking. They're thinking about girls. Or sports, or alcohol, maybe his job…some of the interesting ones might be thinking about the book he's reading or something…pick one: he's thinking about it. Women, however, can think about a thousand things at once. Do you get where I'm coming from? If not, too bad.  
The problem with the game is that I'm good at it. No wait, that's not the problem. I could pick up any girl in the world; that's a good thing. The problem is…I'm a nice guy. Yeah, you know all those girls that you turned out not to be what they're looking for but they still wanna be friends? You know, "You're nice and all, but you can't support me because I have a standard, and you're not completely exactly totally what I had in mind, and it's not you it's me, but can you still take care of all my problems? Good. Thanks for dinner. If that hadn't cost you your entire month's salary, maybe we could be more." Ugh. I have roughly two hundred of those. Why don't I do some breaking up of my own? With the guys I'm badass and hard-core. I'm friendly, but you sooo cannot mess with me. No way. With the girls, um…squeak. If it's an all-powerful crime-lord who doesn't like my face, style, or the fact that I found the very thing he was after first? I'll take him out in two seconds flat. If it's an evil mega-bitch who called me an "ill-mannered monkey" and promised me that if I spoke to her again, she'd slap me? I'll hide under my bed and hope she gets struck by lightning. By the way, her name's Teresa.  
Here's my problem: those you're-nice-but-you-have-no-money girls? They happen to be all the girls. And they use me, every single last one of them. If I have money, that's off chance by the way, they suddenly are all interested again. If not, well to hell with me. Except for Megan, she was nice. I hadn't had food for practically a week, so she invited me to her place for dinner. Too bad her mom doesn't like me. But even she uses me for whatever. Usually, it's just a sickening, time-consuming earful. Although, all too often, it's something else. But I keep flirting. Why haven't I learned my lesson? One: I'm addicted, and two: I keep hoping to find…you know…the _one_. The one that will demand my life, and in return give me hers. When that happens, all those other girls have to leave me alone! See ya, sweetheart! I'm claimed property! Keep off the grass! This is probably the reason why a lot of those guys get married: to get away from their ex's.  
These are the stories that I am too nice to tell.  
Let me introduce you to Miss Popular of Bradstreet High, Leslie. She always tells me I was one of her favorite dates, to which I generally respond, "What do you want now?" This tends to be about one of her busybody improve-the-lesser-life-forms "projects." I should be flattered, I guess, since I am never the subject of these projects. Leslie simply believes that she is God's gift to the universe, and therefore believes that it is her divine duty to help poor normal beings to understand the differences between good and bad: spandex and lycra. Don't ask me, I always thought they were both good. However, she could never actually be seen helping these poor, detached souls--that might hurt her reputation. So naturally, since I have no reputation, she tells me to do it. I should ask her to pay me, but she's a girl, and I have my reputation to think about.  
Anyway, I was hanging out at Pierre's Pub listening to swatches of random conversation and waiting patiently for an opportune time to introduce myself to Marietta, the hot, new kitchen wench; when Leslie walked in. At first, I turned my back and wished desperately that she would not see me, but then I realized that I had better save my luck points for something I'd actually get any chance at. If Leslie was risking her rep by coming in here, it meant she was looking for me.. I pretended not to see her as she sauntered over to me, acting like the goddess she thought she was and looking willing and ready to completely spoil my week. Which was sad, because I had been having a good week. No, really!  
"Zidane," she climbed up on the stool next to mine. "Just the man I was looking for."  
"I know," I said looking at her through the corner of my eye. I smirked slightly, for effect. If that annoyed her, she definitely didn't show it. She was cute; I kind of caved in.  
"You wanna drink or something?" I asked. Hey, I _did_ try.  
"No, I'm fine," she smiled back. She gazed up at the ceiling as if we were out in an open field filled with starlight, instead of in the practically cheapest pub in the slums. "You know, Zidane? You were always one of my favorite dates…" Nope, I definitely didn't see that coming. "You weren't the classiest or the best…" Ouch. "but you were definitely the sweetest…" Not quite redemption, but I'll take what I can get. "I always liked that about you, how you always enjoyed going out of your way for other people…" Seriously, do I have to tell you where this is going?  
"What do you want me to do?" I sighed. Yes, _ I know_ I didn't even put up a fight. She perked up out of her "reverie" into her business mode.  
"There's this girl at my school who really needs help…" A girl, huh? Nothing new, but you've got me interested… "Her name's Lou Ellen…" That's pretty. "She's very shy…" Easily dealt with… "She has a hard time making friends." Naturally. "And she has no clue on how to fit in…" I _am_ an actor here, no problem. "And she's very sensitive about it." That's to be expected. "Especially about her weight." Aw, man! "She needs people who are pretty and popular to accept her, hmm?" She smiled sweetly.   
"Is she, uh, anorexic…or something?" I was almost too afraid to ask.  
"Oh, no," Leslie shook her bright blond locks of curls. "I think her problem is the opposite, but she doesn't know what to do about it." Aaaaaww, man!! She simply smiled sweetly. Please have mercy on me, oh goddess of lip-gloss and all things form fitting, I begged with my eyes. What I said was:  
"What exactly did you have in mind?" Her sweet smile turned into a not-so-sweet grin. Inwardly I was screaming, like the mouse that I am stuck in a corner with a cat in front of it. Okay, maybe that's a little melodramatic, but cut me some slack here. I mean, my entire week was being ruined!  
"Thursday night at the Beat?" the cat said, sounding like a gangster. Too bad she wasn't a gangster.  
"Yeah, Ladies Night?" at least she was cutting my wallet some slack.  
"All I want you to do is pick her up for the night, after I bring her in and get picked up myself, of course."  
"Yeah, but…what exactly should I do?" She gave me a look that made me shudder. Great, where was that ability to annoy when I _needed_ it?  
"I don't know! Dance with her! Buy her a drink! Tell her she's got pretty eyes!"  
"Okay, okay…don't get mad," I think I whimpered when I said that.  
"I just would've thought you, of all people, would know how to do _that_…" She looked away in a huff. Yes, Leslie, I know I screwed up that night, but I don't _care_. And if you really did…would you even bother with me? Hmm?  
"Sorry," I mumbled.  
"So, you'll be there?" It wasn't a question.  
"Yeah," I confirmed, fervently hoping that I actually was free that night.  
"Good," she hopped off of the barstool. "See you then!" I watched her walk out the door, feeling miserable.  
"That was _so_ sweet of you," a sexy voice said behind me. I turned around to be face to face with Marietta.  
"Oh," was all I said.  
"There aren't many guys who would do that," she leaned on the counter and looked directly into my eyes.  
"Oh I don't know about that…" I responded modestly. Her dark lips parted to show two rows of perfect, white teeth.  
"So…what are you doing next Thursday night?"  
"Nothing…" I smiled back, raising a lone eyebrow, "so, I'm open to suggestions."  
Screw this week. There's always next week.  
  
  
  
AN: okay that wasn't completely awful. As you can see, I left room for more. Whether or not there will be more is kinda up to y'all, cause I'm basically done with this. I have my monster fics to work on...  



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